Marshmallows, Graham Crackers, and Beer
by ALC Punk
Summary: They're drunk. It's his only excuse. Besides, she's cute when she's wandering the grocery store... Sam&Jack. Season 8.


Disclaimer: Not mine. Set: S8, pre-Gemini. Rating: R/NC17. Sex.  
Pairing: Sam/Jack. Archival: Sure. SJfic yes, please. Notes: er. I was bored, at work, and then it got porny (which had to stop, since I was, y'know, at work).

Marshmallows, Graham Crackers, and Beer.  
by ALC Punk!

This had all been her idea, he was sure of it. If Jack (general, he was a damn general) O'Neill had been in full control of his faculties (which he normally was, but she'd insisted on tequila of all things), he would never have agreed to this.

Luckily, it was late enough that most people were not grocery shopping.

"Ooh!" His companion, the blonde pain-in-the ass otherwise known as lieutenant colonel Samantha Carter, stopped and bent over -- not the best thing to do in her current state of inebriation, and Jack watched with fascination as she almost collapsed in a heap before scooping up whatever had caught her eye and turning to him, smiling beatifically. "Look, Jack." She waved the bag at him. "Now we can make s'mores!"

"Carter," he said, carefully, "Why are we making s'mores?"

"Because." She frowned, as if concentrating on just why she'd decreed there should be tequila had slipped deep into her brain and retrieving it was like reformatting an 80-gig hard drive with 98 bad clusters (damn, he HAD to stop hanging around geeks). "Pete." She nodded emphatically and waved her left hand, displaying the empty ring finger. "Fink. Left me."

"Ah." Well, he'd known that bit. Even in his own (slightly) inebriated state, Jack could remember that Pete Shanahan (Detective. Stalker. Idiot) had just two weeks before informed Sam Carter that she worked too hard, and he didn't think it was working, and could he have the ring back.

Carter had then determined that she was irredeemably screwed when it came to men, and spent that two weeks stomping every man on base underneath her combat boot heels (and looked damn sexy doing it, too). Jack had finally been approached by a contingent of science geeks and marines, demanding that he DO something about her. Somehow, Jack doubted s'mores had been on their list of ways of dealing with her.

"Besides," now she was almost hugging the marshmallows, "I need chocolate, Jack. Lots and lots of chocolate."

He'd stopped objecting to her calling him 'Jack' somewhere around whiskey number five -- mainly because she kept stumbling over 'sir' and 'general', and, well, there was sort of a vicarious thrill in Carter calling him 'Jack'. Although he could have done without her sing-songing it all the way from the bar to the store. "Ah. So. Chocolate?"

"Right." She blinked at him. "Jack?"

"Candy aisle's this way, Carter." He slipped his hand under her elbow, and tugged her to the left.

"Mmm. Candy." She stumbled into him and chuckled, "Pete didn't like candy."

Jack shifted to catch her with both hands and hold her upright. "Carter --"

Leaning closer, she sighed, "You smell nice."

"Er..." He made sure she was standing, "Carter, we were getting chocolate."

"Yes."

She stepped away, and for just a second he wished he hadn't still been thinking clearly enough to push her away. He caught her hand in his, "C'mon."

The candy aisle was just as deserted as the baking aisle, and Carter leaned against him while she stared at the array of sugar.

"Lotta candy."

"Yup."

"Jack? What do men want?"

"Huh?"

"In a relationship." She poked a finger at his chest, missed, and hit his shoulder. "I always thought guys wanted just one thing. Sex. Pete wanted emotions." She wrinkled her nose at him. "Love and caring and crap like that. He said..." There was a pause while she looked back at the candy, "I think I need chocolate."

"So you said." Keeping an arm around her (it had found its way naturally to her waist), Jack reached out and snagged a package of chocolate bars. "This work?"

Carter stared at it, then nodded. "Yes." Her head bumped his shoulder, "You didn't answer my question. What do men want in a relationship? I mean, I could ask Daniel, but he's all about feelings. And, I always thought it was sex. That's what the movies, and magazines, and TV say." She shifted against him and grabbed the chocolate from his hand. "Sex, I can do. Give me sex any day, and I'm all good. But feelings?"

When he realized she was still waiting for an answer, Jack shrugged. "Sex is good. And, sometimes, guys like feeling feelings."

"Oh." Carter was silent for a moment, then she nodded, "Guess that makes sense." She held up the chocolate, "We need graham crackers."

"Cracker aisle." He tugged her to the left, "Down here."

"No, it's this way."

"Carter, it's --"

"I shop here more often than you, it's this way." She insisted, tugging at his belt loop.

"Fine, fine." Letting her lead the way, Jack admired the way her hips moved in her jeans. "Carter, how do you know you shop here more than me?"

"You eat almost all your meals on base."

"Ah." Deciding that admiring Carter's ass was something he wasn't supposed to be doing, Jack moved closer and snagged her hand again. "Where's the cracker aisle?"

"Right..." She frowned, "Well, it was right here last time."

Deciding that he was drunk -- and, thus, ALLOWED -- Jack enjoyed the pout on her lips. "Uh-huh." He tugged at her hand, "C'mon, I know where they are."

"Good."

Several minutes were spent arguing over which were the best to get -- Jack finally won, holding up the Golden Honey box. He refrained from pointing out that the little Teddy Grahams would be more fun.

Continuing to pout, Carter stalked off for the cash registers, head high. Unfortunately, she mis-judged the corner and knocked over one of the displays. "Oops."

Helping her to her feet, since her legs seemed to be tangled (and Carter had a LOT of leg to be tangled in), Jack suddenly found himself shoved up against the shelves, Carter pressed against his front. "Uh--mmph." Was about the best he could manage as she yanked his head down and wrapped her lips around his.

It wasn't that Jack really objected to being kissed by Carter (he kinda liked it), but there was this whole thing about regulations, and locked rooms, and (most importantly) the fiancé who had just dumped her. Because he was pretty sure she wouldn't be kissing him if she weren't upset, and therefore, it would behoove him to stop her. Really. Just as soon as he got his breath back. And stopped kissing her.

The thing about kissing Carter, Jack decided hazily, was that it was nice. And familiar. Like putting on a well-worn pair of jeans (except that if her hands didn't behave themselves he was going to discover the jeans had massive holes in the butt). Not that she'd appreciate the comparison.

But he had been there before.

Several times, in fact. Not that he'd ever tell HER that.

As far as Jack was concerned, kissing Carter during the time loops had been the best, and most logical, way to stay sane.

Which really didn't help him with the fact that she was kissing him now.

And he really should stop her.

Jack O'Neill was kissing Sam Carter in the middle of a grocery store.

Correction.

General Jack O'Neill was kissing lieutenant colonel Sam Carter, after midnight, in the middle of a grocery store.

Jack had a feeling there was a really fucked-up nursery rhyme in there.

He was too busy kissing to really decide, though.

"Disgraceful!" The exclamation broke through the haze slightly, and Jack opened one eye and peered at the little grey-haired woman.

Jack was kissing Carter, in front of someone's grandmother.

Reluctantly, he began pulling away. She made a protesting noise.

"Honestly, the things people get up to!"

The body in Jack's arms froze. Then she jerked out of his arms and whirled to stare at the old woman. "Well, at least I'm enjoying my life!"

Jack watched as she stalked off towards frozen foods, then shrugged at the old woman, and went after her.

She was staring at the french fries when he found her. "Carter?"

"We should check out."

"Yup."

They made their silent way to the registers, and Jack took full advantage of her walking in front of him to enjoy her jeans-clad ass.

A sleepy-looking teen ran the chocolate and the graham crackers through, then waited for Carter to hand him the bag of marshmallows. "Carter."

"Hrm?"

"We have to pay for those."

"Oh." She blinked, then handed them over.

"She's drunk," Jack explained patiently.

The teen continued to look bored.

"I am not."

"You are."

"Am not."

"Are."

"Not."

"Are."

"Sir?" The teen waved at him, "That'll be 5.63."

Jack handed him a ten, and took his change. When he turned towards his companion, he discovered she'd already walked off, swinging the one bag rather energetically. He sighed. "Son? Word of advice. Never get a lady drunk."

The kid didn't answer.

Which was fine with Jack. He went after Carter, wondering if she was going to wait for him outside.

She was.

"It's cold."

"Yup."

Naturally, she leaned against him, arm snaking around his waist. Jack reciprocated, sliding his arm around her shoulders. They began walking. His house wasn't too far from here, and there was no way he was driving (how she'd convinced him to drive there in the first place disturbed him, now that he was slightly more sober).

Once at his house, he disengaged himself to open the door and then took her hand to lead her inside.

"S'mores."

"Yup." He pulled her into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter.

She frowned, "You don't make s'mores in the kitchen. You make them over a campfire."

"Don't have any fire, Carter." He pulled out a plate, "Microwave."

"Microwave bad. Fire pretty."

He glanced at her; she was pouting again. "I'm not starting a fire, Carter."

"Oh." She slumped against the counter.

Picking up the bag of marshmallows, he handed it to her, "Open these, would ya?"

"Yeah."

Busying himself with the graham crackers and chocolate, he didn't pay much attention to her until she cursed.

Glancing at her, he blinked. She'd succeeded in opening the bag -- all over the counter, herself, and the floor. Somehow, she'd even gotten mini-marshmallows in her hair. "Cute."

"Isn't." She scowled at him. "I hate marshmallows."

"Okay."

Sam snaked an arm around him and nabbed two chocolate bars. Then she turned and stalked from the kitchen, head held high. Jack considered stopping her, but it was almost amusing to see the small white blobs of sugar decorating her hair.

Eyeing the spilled marshmallows, Jack shrugged. He could clean them up in the morning. He grabbed a couple graham crackers and followed her.

"Why did Pete love me?"

Jack stared at her. She'd flopped into the chair and was eyeing him with a discontented expression. "I thought that was the point of meeting a guy, getting married, all of that."

"You've been reading too many of Cassie's romance novels."

"And you're a little cynical." He shot back, settling into the couch.

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black, Jack?" she asked lazily, slipping sideways to swing her legs over the arm of the chair. "After all, you're the king of repressed emotions in favor of bitter cynical reality. I'm sure I could take lessons from you."

"Am I missing something?" He ignored the jibe at himself, "Didn't you want him to love you?"

Her eyes drifted away from his and a distant look came into them. "At first. And then... It was just too much. It wasn't what I thought I wanted, and it was far to late to understand how to fix it."

"Okay."

"Pete..." She flicked a scrap of candy wrapper to the floor, "He was too domestic. He wanted a wife to come home to, a woman who'd give him lots of kids and warm arms and dinner at 7 p.m. sharp." She made a face.

"Isn't that what you want?"

"No." Her eyes met his for a second then skittered away again.

Jack considered what else to say, and couldn't come up with anything decent. Finally, he blurted, "Your ass is really nice in those jeans."

A snort escaped her. "That's very profound, general."

"I try, Carter, I try."

She dragged herself from the chair and came over to him, hands on her hips. "It is, huh?"

"Yep."

With a slow step, she turned. And then wiggled her hips, glancing back at him. "You sure?"

Giving in to the urge, Jack reached out and smacked her ass. "Definitely."

She yelped. "Jack!"

"It was there." He replied, smirking.

"Hrm." Facing him, she tilted her head. "Yes, I suppose it was. Move over."

"No."

She shrugged. "Fine." And then she was sitting on his lap and sighing.

"Carter!"

"The chair is too far."

Leaning up, Jack grabbed her around the waist, and found her leaning into him and grabbing his shirt. And they were kissing again. Jack was pretty certain he wasn't supposed to be kissing Carter on his couch, while she was in his lap. The store had been okay, he rationalized. There wasn't any further they could have gone there without being arrested for public indecency.

Kissing Carter was certainly relaxing, though. He leaned back against the arm, pulling her with him and felt her sigh as she squirmed around to settle against him. Maybe he could have Walter add it to his schedule.

It'd go something like, "Sign crap. Have stupid meeting. Kiss Carter."

Of course, there would be appropriate times, and lengths of the kisses allowed. Walter already scheduled him down to the millisecond, Jack was sure he could fit one more thing in. Especially since it was something that made him happy.

Not that kissing Carter was supposed to make him happy.

It occurred to Jack that he probably shouldn't be groping that delectable ass. He rationalized that he'd smacked it, and thus, should make amends.

And then her hand went down his pants.

"Carter!" He jerked his lips from hers, and yelped.

"What?"

Avoiding her glazed eyes, and the way her lips looked so adorably red and pouty, Jack reached down and grabbed her wrist.

"Oh." She sighed. "So we're not going to have sex?"

Jack decided that choking on his tongue was beneath his dignity. "No."

"You don't want me?"

"No!"

"Good." Her fingers stroked him.

"Carter!" This was beginning to feel really familiar.

"Why not?"

"You know why."

The hand withdrew, and Jack's body protested and informed him that it really liked the idea of sex with Carter, and could he please change his mind and convince her they could have sex?

"Oh. Right." A soundless laugh, "Locked rooms and regulations. And it could never be just sex between us, could it?"

YES! Jack ignored his body. "No."

She carefully extricated herself from his grasp and stood.

It wasn't until she was nearly to the front door that he moved, dragging his suddenly exhausted body after her. "Carter."

"Don't worry. I'm sure you won't remember this in the morning."

He blinked, "And you will?"

A half-smile flitted across her lips. "I'm not that drunk. Sir."

"I was wrong." His palm flattened on the door, holding it closed.

She looked up at him, her back against the wood. "Wrong?"

"It can be about sex."

"Can it?" His free hand caught hers and he drew it out to the side and then leaned into her, slipping between her legs and pressing against her. The careful way he moved against her was torture, but he didn't let up until she made a sound in the back of her throat and pushed back.

"Fine." Her voice was breathless. "But this door is a little uncomfortable."

"I don't know, I think there's something symbolically temporary about fucking you against my door." Jack leaned in and kissed her before she could say anything else.

The kiss was different than the others. Of course, this time he was kissing her with intent.

"Jack." she mumbled against his lips, then gasped as his hand slid under her shirt, fingers grazing her skin. Ah, Carter skin. Something he'd wanted to touch for a long time. He really wasn't disappointed.

He was trying to decide what texture to compare her skin to when she pushed her free hand against his chest. "Carter?"

"Bedroom."

Oh. Bedroom. Might be an idea. He occupied himself with kissing her for a little bit more, then reluctantly stepped back and tugged her down the hall to his room. Once inside, he stopped to simply stare at her.

"What?" She looked irritated. Her hand pulled at his. "Strip, general."

"Yes, ma'am."

It wasn't a contest to see who could strip the fastest, because Jack kept stopping her to kiss newly-exposed skin until she slapped him away (reluctantly). Then there was suddenly a naked Samantha Carter in his bedroom and so he had to stop and stare.

"What?" Now she sounded annoyed.

He reached out and traced his fingers down her side. "You're beautiful."

"And you're still half-dressed."

Damn. "You're obviously still thinking too much, if you can use logic at a time like this."

"So make me stop thinking"  
Now that was a challenge he was perfectly willing to take, his hands found her skin again and he stroked it, leaning in to taste the side of her throat and then her shoulders as she shifted in his arms, sighing softly. Up one side, down the other, around to her back where he cupped her ass again. Definitely a good one, he decided as her lips closed on his neck, sucking at a spot just to the side of his jugular.

"Clothes," she finally said. His lips closed around one taut nipple, and she moaned. He smirked against her breast, then was distracted by the texture, taste and feel of her. One of her hands slid into his hair and tugged. "Jack."

Reluctantly, he let her go and went back to taking his pants off.

Then he was standing naked in front of Sam Carter. She gazed at him for a moment, head tilted to one side, then she nodded. "Bed. Now."

"Bed?" He teased.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him. "That, that is a bed."

"You're right." He reached behind himself, grabbed a handful of Carter, and tugged her in front of him. She squirmed for a moment, then sighed as his fingers traced across her breasts. "You sure we need a bed?"

"We're a little drunk."

"Point." Jack gauged the distance, then began backing her up, hands trailing over her skin and mouth kissing its way along her neck until the bed was directly behind her. Then he shoved, toppling her backwards.

"Ooph." Before she had a chance to do more than glare, Jack joined her, urging her into the middle of the bed. He reached down and slid a finger into her, finding her ready for him. She growled softly, arching against his hand. "Ja-ack."

"What?"

"Sex. Now."

"Demanding, aren't you?"

Her hands grabbed for him, and he moved, catching them and pinning them to either side, sliding between her legs. "Like this?"

It was torture holding himself against her, and she knew it, too. She bucked underneath him, growling again.

"Ah." He secured both wrists in one hand and reached down. It took less than a second to rearrange himself. And then she pushed against him, bringing her legs up, and he jerked forwards, the feeling nearly making his eyes roll into his head.

"God." The word was whispered as she stared at him.

Experimentally, he pulled back out.

She whimpered softly.

When he thrust back in, she tightened around him, wrapping one leg around his waist and pushing against him. It was his turn to groan.

"Jack." She wriggled, "Move, damnit."

Oh. Right. Move. Knowing he wouldn't last long in this state, he slid a finger down and stroked her, finding the exact spot that made her head thrash back and her eyes go wide. Then he began moving, sliding in and out with slow, careful strokes until she writhed again, and he lost all coherent thought and loosed her wrists.

Her fingers found his skin, tugging and stroking it and he dropped his head and nipped at her neck and shoulders and chest until she gave a cry and shuddered around him, her eyes wide and unseeing.

Then her hands were dragging his mouth to hers and she was pushing against him and gripping him and the sensations dragged him under.

Jack found he simply didn't want to move afterwards. And since she wasn't complaining (yet) he remained slumped on her, feeling her breathe, skin moving against his, heart slowing down. Eventually, he shifted so he could see her eyes. "Hey."

Her hand came up and stroked his cheek. "I lied."

"Wha?"

Something bittersweet crossed her face, and then she smiled, "I hate s'mores."

"Ah." Deciding he didn't want to know (and that, really, she needed a little more stress relief -- the guys on base would SO thank him), Jack slid his hand back down and began stroking her.

Carter's eyes widened, and she drew in a soft gasping breath.

Slipping a finger into her again, he shifted so he could bring both hands into play and watch her at the same time. Color slowly suffused her skin, and within minutes she was writhing again, hands fisted in the sheet and his hair, eyes staring at him, mouth uttering soft obscenities he was kind of surprised Sam Carter knew. Not that it mattered. He liked her little quirks.

Two fingers, and she was growling again.

When she squirmed around, he just assumed it was to give him better access. And then her hand closed around him, and he was wondering exactly how devious she was. Her other hand dragged his mouth back to hers, and her tongue invaded, thrusting at the same rate as his fingers.

He felt her inner muscles flutter in orgasm and pulled back to watch. She had her eyes closed this time, and she was utterly silent until the very end.

The fingers wrapped around him flexed and he groaned.

"Ja-ack." Her voice was breathless.

"Hrm?"

She pushed, and he rolled, bringing her with him. She stared down for a moment, and then stretched lazily, dragging her body against his. Jack groaned again.

This time, it was her turn to tease and go agonizingly slow until Jack was seeing colors that didn't exist and biting down on the skin of her shoulder and deciding that she was his. The word slipped out on a grunt as she relaxed against him. "Mine."

She stilled completely, then shifted to look into his eyes. "Backatcha, general."

--

Jack O'Neill woke up with his face buried in blonde hair. If he hadn't retained a vague memory of the owner of said hair falling asleep on his chest, he might have been worried. Instead, he wondered if he could extricate himself, use the bathroom, locate a toothbrush, and discover where the bottle of pain meds Doc had given him the last time he knocked out his knee were. His back was twinging in certain places, reminding him that he was not twenty anymore. And there were parts of his body that ached with strain. His head was also informing him that he'd done too much. So. Get up. Without waking her up.

Probably not.

"I wasn't drunk."

Definitely not.

"Bathroom." He managed.

She shifted away from him, flopping face down onto the bed. "Have fun. I didn't."

His toothbrush was wet, Jack discovered. And the bottle of painkillers was sitting on the counter. Huh. He didn't remember her getting up, but apparently she had. Carter obviously had a stealth mode. He wondered if it bent light and sound around her.

When he returned to the bedroom, she hadn't moved. He nudged her side when he flopped back down. "Mornin', Carter."

She growled into the pillow. This was not the same growl that had made his fingers work extra hard, this was one that made him reconsider waking her up for morning sex. "Er. Carter?"

"Go away, sir."

Ouch. "I thought you were callin' me Jack."

"That was before I realized what an idiot I was."

Ah. He shifted away from her. "Wanna lock this in a room, too?"

"What?" Her head lifted, and she stared at him, then blinked. "Oh. Not that." Her hand closed around his hip. "That was by far the best part of the night."

"Then what?"

She took a breath, then let it out. "I lied to myself. Or I thought I was telling the truth, or --"

"Carter."

"I can't keep this emotionless."

Oh.

Carter pulled herself closer and curled into his side, her face dropping into the pillow. Jack found his hand reaching up to stroke through the tangled strands of her hair. "The world didn't end."

"No. I suppose it didn't."

He shifted, dragging her closer (despite the protesting muscles in his back and the slight headache still lurking). "I lied, too."

"Oh."

Her arm snaked across his waist and her head settled on his shoulder. "So where does that leave us?"

"Right where we are."

It wasn't an answer. But, then, Jack had sometimes wondered if there ever really was a question.

--

On Monday afternoon, a grateful contingent of techies, geeks, and master sergeants crowded into the general's office to thank him profusely. Apparently, lieutenant colonel Carter was back to her pleasant, calm self. They didn't ask what he'd done to adjust her personal quirks.

Jack decided that telling them was pointless.

Besides, she'd kill him.

Right after their date for sex that night. Walter was slightly appalled that he was having to suddenly schedule clandestine rendezvous, but since it made Jack that much more amenable to reading his memos, he was letting it slide.

For now.

-f- 


End file.
